


Paperchase

by traumschwinge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Freckles, M/M, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, Summer Mystrade Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning during a slow week at work, Greg finds a note on his desk that sends him on a paperchase for the rest of the afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paperchase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thanks to my lovely birdyfriend, there's also a podfic of this available. You can find it either [here on tumblr](http://dreamybird-productions.tumblr.com/post/96556489913/title-paperchase-author-traumschwinge-reader) or at [tindeck](http://tindeck.com/listen/xhlc).

When Lestrade arrived at work on that morning, he found a note on his desk. "Meet me at three in the gardens around the corner. Take the evening off." it said. There was no name on the note. Nobody could tell him where it had come from. It had just appeared. The note did not say come alone, despite all cliches. He didn't know whether that was because the writer had forgotten to add it or because it wouldn't make a difference. The paper on which the note had been written was heavy, clearly of the expensive sort. Lestrade held it up against the light but there was no watermark, nor any other hint to who the sender might be.

He opened the bottom most drawer of his desk, closed it again and, after a brief moment of hesitation, threw the note in the top most drawer.

The whole morning Lestrade thought about this note. It was quite unusual for informants to approach him in this way. On the other hand, he was working with Sherlock bloody Holmes more often than he'd like, so who was he to say what unusual was. It could be that Sherlock was just bored. The city was quiet since even criminals, it appeared to be, were taking their summer vacation now. The only crimes happening were burglaries. That, thankfully, was not Lestrade's division. He had better things to do than being out of his a/c cooled office all day. Paperwork for example. There seemed never to be a lack of that. Emergencies would find him easier if he was in his office as well.

He went to lunch around noon. It was too warm outside to be really hungry so he just went to a street vendor to grab a bite and then have some ice cream on his way back. Though he had almost expected it, there was no second note. However, he had a missed call. They hadn't left a message or a number to call back. The constable in charge of handling incoming calls could only tell him that it had been a woman calling.  That at least told him he could outrule Sherlock as the sender.

With half an eye he watched the small hand move from one to two and past while he finished the reports he needed finished. At twenty minutes to three, he took the note and packed up. It paid not to let informants wait for too long, as much as he'd like to this time. There weren't any hot cases they had to solve, just a few bloody domestics in the last few weeks. If this was about a case-and Lestrade didn't know it was-it has to be something they had missed up to now.

At quarter to three sharp, his phone rang.

"Lestrade?"

"The bench in the north-west corner, fifteen minutes. Try not to be late," a woman's voice informed him. She sounded bored.

"Who am I talking to?" he asked but she'd already ended the call. "Bloody hell." Lestrade slammed down the receiver. For a moment he was tempted just to stay. He wasn't in the mood for some damn games. Then, however, he would have to face another call like the one just now for sure.

So, with a curse on his lips, Lestrade left his office. He needed to hurry if he wanted to be at the bench in time. Goodness knew what that weird informant might come up with if he was late. He might end up needing the help of Sherlock for heaven’s sake. So, every reason to hurry and be on time, hadn’t he?

He arrived at the bench two minutes early and only slightly out of breath. After a quick look around, he sat down and waited. Three o’clock came and passed. At ten past, Lestrade seriously  doubted there would be anyone to show up. At quarter past, he stopped checking his phone in awaiting of another call and looked around the bench.

There was another note tacked to the back of the bench. Lestrade let out a low curse as he tore the envelope open. It held a business card for a tailor shop. It was only a few streets from the park. Lestrade raised an eyebrow. What was that supposed to tell him? He turned the card over. “The password is swordfish” a handwritten note on the back told him.

“What the bloody hell,” Lestrade murmured.

Still, he didn’t have any other plans for the rest of the afternoon or the evening, so he could follow this ridiculous lead just as well. If this was just a stupid prank he would still want to find out who was behind it. That was, of course, to make them pay for wasting his precious time.

The tailor shop was just the ground floor of a small building. From the outside it didn’t look like much. But inside, Lestrade was almost instantly sure it was one of the really expensive places. It looked like it. Not that he had much experience with expensive suits on a detective inspector’s salary.

The shop assistant took one look at his before he asked, “How can I help you?” His whole stance made it clear that the only help he really wanted to give Lestrade was to show him the door.

“Er...” Lestrade shook his head. Well, here goes the joke, he thought. “I was told the password was swordfish.”

The shop assistant smiled at him. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? If you’d please follow me to the backroom. There’s a suit waiting for you.”

“What suit?” Lestrade shook his head. “I didn’t order any suits.”  
“But you are…” The assistant made a show out of looking at the accounting book on the counter. “Gregory Lestrade? Then I have a suit for you. It’s already paid for and made to your measurements so either you take it or you don’t.”

Lestrade hesitated for a moment.He didn’t like this, not at all. Somebody was playing a game with him and he didn’t even know whether or not he wanted to play. Then again, he had gone with it up to this point, why should he refuse a suit now.

He nodded. “Let’s see the suit, then.”

The suit the shop assistant handed over to him in the backroom was made of soft dark gray fabric. It did not only come as a complete three piece set but also with a white shirt and a navy tie. Everything fit him perfectly. It was slightly creepy if he thought about it. Somebody had watched him long or at least closely enough to find out his measurements. That was more than he knew about his body.

Looking himself up and down in the big floor length mirror though, he had to admit the suit looked damn well on him. Lestrade straightened the tie. The silk felt soft under his fingers. He let them linger on the knot a little longer than necessary. This suit must have been expensive. Maybe even more than he earned in a month or two.

His hand slid into the trouser pocket to find a neatly folded piece of paper in there. Lestrade smiled to himself. He was starting to guess who was playing games with him. It was a shame really, how much effort had gone into this plan, seeing as he might just have agreed if he had been asked. Not that he had hoped for it. Probably, he would have declined the first one or even two invitations for decencies sake.

“Can I leave this on?” he asked after a long moment. If his suspicion was correct he would need this suit tonight.

“Of course, sir,” the shop assistant replied.

“Er, just one more question, did the person who commissioned this suit have freckles?” Lestrade asked.

“I’m afraid, she did not,” the assistant answered.

“She?” Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

“I was instructed not to answer any questions about any details when it comes to the person who ordered this suit,,” the assistant said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No,it’s okay,” Lestrade shook his head. “Thank you.”  
“Do you want me to send your old ‘clothes’ to your address?” The shop assistant made it clear that he didn’t consider the clothes Lestrade had been wearing a real suit.

Lestrade nodded. “Thank you.”

He went out before he took a look at the note he had found in his pocket. Just because the one who had commissioned the suit had been a woman didn’t have to mean his suspicion was wrong. After all, wasn’t taking care of details what PAs were for?

The note held instructions for him to go to the next underground station and take the train north at twenty past five. He should ride on the second to last cart. Lestrade shook his head. He had taken part in ransom deliveries that had been less thought out.

He arrived at the station at five. Well, the timing could be better, Lestrade thought. If he had immediately found the first note, he would have had to wait even longer. He had no idea what was so special about the five twenty train. The only way to find out, however, was to get on it in the right cart and see what would happen.

While he was waiting, he typed a message “You could have just asked for god’s sake!” but he didn’t dare send it yet. Although he did have a suspicion, he was not sure enough to want make a fool out of himself in front of a certain someone with a rather fine taste in clothes and a penchant of not telling people when he invited them. If he was wrong, he did not want Mycroft to assume he’d liked it if it had been him. He felt foolish enough around the man without further complications.

He got in  the train north at exactly five twenty. Really, the things he did for anonymous informants. Of course the train was crowded to the point where it was hard to move at this time of day. He only wished he knew how long to ride the train. Not that it would have bettered his situation, but it would have been a little more bearable.

At the fourth stop after he’d gotten on the train, a woman, about his height, dressed for business, shoulder length brown hair, pushed past him towards the door. Her handbag was open and she dropped her purse right in front of his feet. Lestrade had picked it up in seconds but he was not quick enough to tell her before she’d got off the train. He decided to follow her.

The woman was in front of him when he got off, he could still see her when they reached the stairs, but then there suddenly were so many people between them at the exit that he lost sight of her.

Unsure what to do now, he took a look into the purse to see if he could find her address in there. The purse, however, held nothing, no cards, no money, no id, save for a folded piece of paper. Again, Lestrade thought, feeling exasperated for a second. He should have known this was part of the game.

It was the printout of a restaurant reservation for six o’clock. A quick internet search revealed that the restaurant in question was just a short walk away from the station. He should go there and see if he could catch the woman. If not, he could still ask the waiter to hand the empty purse over. Or something like that. It was not like he didn’t remember where he had heard the name on the reservation before.

At the restaurant, he was very glad he had kept on the suit. However, he wished he’d had the opportunity to shave and comb his hair and maybe even a bit more before coming here. The whole place screamed ‘I’m too expensive for common people’ in every way possible without directly saying it. It made Lestrade feel very self-conscious.

He still went in and up to the waiter in charge of the seating. “Excuse me, do you have a reservation for a Ms Lazarus?”

The waiter looked at him for a second, before his glance went down and he saw the suit he was wearing. Lestrade was sure he heard a small sigh. Upon consulting the book on his stand, he said, “And what was your name again, Mr…?”

“Lestrade,” Lestrade grumbled.

The waitor’s face lit up in recognition of his name. “Why didn’t you say so before, sir? This way, please, you’re already expected.”

“By Ms Lazarus?” Lestrade asked. He followed the waiter to the back of the restaurant. “Or by her employer?”

They had reached a table surrounded by screens on all four sides now. It was set for two, with cutlery, plates and glasses aplenty, hinting at a multiple course dinner. “Her employer, of course, hadn’t you guessed yet?” Mycroft Holmes, who occupied the seat opposite to the small entrance to the private table, asked.

“I had,” Lestrade sighed. “I just hoped I was wrong and there was still a beautiful woman waiting here for me.”

Mycroft crooked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to call my assistant? I could arrange that.”

Greg shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I suppose it’s better to ask you what this is all about anyway.”

“Well, then, have a seat.” Mycroft gestured towards the empty seat. Greg sat down slowly.

“Why am I here?” Greg asked. It had been bugging him ever since he found the note on his desk. None of this made any sense if not for somebody playing a game with him. Now that he knew it had been Mycroft, he wanted to know why.

“Because you found a purse and you wanted to give it back.” Mycroft held out his hand as if he was expecting something from Greg.

“What?”

“The purse, Greg. I shall pass it on back to Ms Lazarus.”

“That’s not her name, is it?”

“Of course not. But for our purposes that name will do.”

Greg handed over the purse. Of course that woman had been working for Mycroft. He should just start going around the city assuming everyone was either working for Mycroft Holmes, James Moriarty, or both. It seemed to be true no matter what anyway. “So, why didn’t you just ask me out for dinner?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“No, not right away at least,” Greg allowed.

“So this was the better option after all.” Mycroft smiled a little. “And haven’t you been a bit bored lately? You have to admit this afternoon was the most exciting one you had all week.”

Greg shrugged. “It was alright, I guess.” Their soups arrived. As expected, the dishes were small but most likely to be plenty. Greg dipped his spoon in it and carefully tried. Despite the foamy texture, it tasted surprisingly alright.

“How do you like the suit?” Mycroft asked after the soup had been exchanged for something that must have been salad.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you how you like it? After all, you paid for it.”

Mycroft let his eyes rake over Greg’s body like he hadn’t been subtly stealing any look he could ever since Greg had entered the room. “I like it well enough. But it has yet to prove itself to be an investment well made.”

“I am having dinner with you right now,” Greg reminded him. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”

They ate their entrés in silence. Greg was always impressed how comfortable he felt around Mycroft, no matter how often he wanted to smash his egg head in. How else would he have noticed the adorable freckles that dusted the man’s nose and cheeks. Up until this afternoon, he had always wondered if Mycroft even remotely felt the same.

“Why couldn’t you have just asked me out like a normal human being?”

“A normal human being? And how, please enlighten me here, would that still have been me? Admit it, Greg, you like me for not being a normal person and you just came here even though you could see through the little scavenger hunt just fine not because you wanted to see the end but because of the slim chance of finding me at the end.”

Greg had to admit, Mycroft was right here. If not for something as silly as his afternoon, they would have continued to dance around each other for months and nothing would have come out of anything. “You could have done so ages ago,” Greg groaned. He hid his face in his hands. He was sure he was blushing. There was no reason at all to let Mycroft see it.

“So you would like to go out with me again?” Mycroft’s voice was flat and devoid of any emotion but Greg could tell he was just as nervous as he himself. “For dinner? Or something else?”

Greg slowly nodded. “Yes,” he said as he reached over the table for Mycroft’s hand. “I think I would like that. I’ve been waiting for a long time for you to come around after all.”

 

 


End file.
